more than I
could imagine. We noticed occasionally a large manor-house, with its
dependent out-buildings, and its avenue of clipped beeches or lindens,
looking grand and luxurious in the midst of the cold dark fields. Here
and there were patches of wheat, which the early snow had kept green, and
the grass in the damp hollows was still bright, yet it was the 15th of
December, and we were almost in lat. 60 deg. N.

The houses were mostly one-story wooden cottages, of a dull red color,
with red roofs. In connection with the black-green of the pine and fir
woods they gave the country a singularly sombre aspect. There was little
variation in the scenery all the way to Upsala. In some places, the soil
appeared to be rich and under good cultivation; here the red villages
were more frequent, and squat church-towers showed themselves in the
distance. In other places, we had but the rough hills, or rather knobs
of gray gneiss, whose masses were covered with yellow moss, and the
straggling fir forests. We met but few country teams on the road; nobody
was to be seen about the houses, and the land seemed to be asleep or
desolated. Even at noon, when the sun came out fairly, he was low on the
horizon, and gave but an eclipsed light, which was more cheerless than
complete darkness.

The sun set about three o'clock, but we had a long, splendid twilight, a
flush of orange, rose and amber-green, worthy of a Mediterranean heaven.
Two hours afterwards, the lights of Upsala appeared, and we drove under
the imposing front of the old palace, through clean streets, over the
Upsala River, and finally stopped at the door of a courtyard. Here we
were instantly hailed by some young fellows, who inquired if we did not
want rooms. The place did not appear to be an inn, but as the silent old
gentleman got out and went in, I judged it best to follow his example,
and the diligence drove off with our baggage. We were right, after all:
a rosy, handsome, good-humored landlady appeared, promised to furnish us
with beds and a supper, to wake us betimes, and give us coffee before
leaving.

The old gentleman kindly put on his coat and accompanied us to a
bookstore on the public square, where I found Akrell's map of Northern
Sweden, and thus partially replaced our loss. He sat awhile in our room
trying to converse, but I made little headway. On learning that we were
bound for Tornea, he asked: "Are you going to buy lumber?" "No," I
answered; "we are merely